


Versus the Phoenix

by fibonaccist



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Blindfolds, Dubious Consent, Implied Bondage, Implied Kidnapping, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Imprisonment, M/M, sort of mind sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 11:51:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1468429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fibonaccist/pseuds/fibonaccist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor doesn't dream. He simply gets captured.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Versus the Phoenix

**Author's Note:**

> eyyy don't diss my weird ships ty. this was hella inspired by a really awesome ficlet by a really awesome author but i can't find the ficlet anymore to show it off (or read :'c ) so i guess i gotta put forth my crap after all. sorry sorry (god i miss rping)

Consciousness. Not that it counted for much; the space around him was pitch black. His temporal senses thrummed with their normal awareness, but his physical nerves were scattered and confused. Some of him was numb, but most of him stung and twitched from overexertion of several different sensations: levels of pain, at least four temperatures, suspension without weightlessness, but a heavy anchor somewhere. His coat was missing, and his limbs wouldn't obey simple synaptic commands.  Or... they tried, but—

There were careful touches over him, almost caressing, but the tender aspect snapped away the moment his consciousness registered. Perhaps if he gathered his senses back into the same body. Focusing, and… and words.

"…what are you…"

"Shhh, sh-sh-sh. Hush, Doctor. Wouldn't be fair to struggle  _now_ , would it? Not after you've come so… quietly.”

"You." Even through a strange new voice, he could recognise, maybe the identity, maybe the memories.  It was all one to him, or so he tried to convince himself. His stomach sank and shrunk within itself, twisted not unpleasantly, tightened somewhat strangely. "Re… release me, this instant."

"Or what?" Harsh laughter assaulted his meagre sense of balance from behind the darkness, but he couldn't reel from it somehow. "You’ll scold me? You’re in no position to make demands, you know." And that grating voice, more youthful, more jagged than he remembered, closed in on him, scraping across his temple and seeping into his ear. Puffs of breath rendered him disconcerted on an entirely different level. "Though I doubt it’ll stop you. It never has before. D’you remember  _those_  days? When we demanded absolutely everything?”

"Let me—"

"Let you  _what?_   Go? Oh, I think not. Try again.”

"Let… let me…"

"Let you defeat me? Let you bring me down? Conquer me?  _Burn me alive?"_   The last suggestion was spat like a venom node from a biogun, and he cringed dutifully, eliciting a derisive snort. "Am I going to make you cry again? That won’t do. Then let you what? Touch me?"

He couldn't help the faint scoff under his breath, and he couldn't discern whether the responding giggle was sarcastic, or if his reaction had truly been misunderstood.

"Oh, Doctor. If you’re good, I might let you touch me. But you know what you’ll have to do to earn it."

"You’re… oh, honestly?" _  
_

" _Say it!_  Say my name!”

"…"

"Why not? What do you want from me, then, Doctor? The olden days? When I had  _control?_   Is that what you want to hear?”

"If you’re… still…"

"Yes? Then what? What’s  _my_  reward?”

"…you’ll have to… to find out, won’t you?" Perhaps there was no upper hand to be had, but heckling  _(nostalgia?)_ would suffice.

"Oh? But I want to hear it from you as well, Doctor." And as the voice trickled in, it came closer, an unfamiliar, primordial essence of electricity and possibility searing through his nostrils as the hissing whisper crossed his cheek. "Say it, Doctor. I am the Master."

His own silence continued in the face of the other’s volatile temper, but for quickening breath. Of course, that tiny victory wasn't lost on his captor. The voice rose slightly, taking a mockingly dramatic high sweep.

"Oh, is  _that_  what you wanted? Listen to me, Doctor. I am the Master.” He could feel the strange new smile now, manic and dangerous, barely covering the teeth suddenly set against his ear, an unsteady fist curled into his hair. His breath stilled completely, and his head turned a fraction of an inch toward the brief contact. “I am the Master, and  _you will obey me_.”

"Master…" he wavered, almost inaudibly. And then he did gasp, squirmed even, under the sudden pressure of a full body flush against him. He wondered how his nemesis had escaped death this time, given no egress from his own morbid vigil—but even that terrible memory was violently derailed by the maelstrom suddenly encompassing his mind, conjuring very different memories altogether: guilt and mourning were torn away by heat and need and visceral demands, making the indigenous physical chill of a fellow Time Lord all the more intoxicating. The echo and the roar, calling, pushing for his mental walls to fall and let them in.  _Let him in._

**_Let me in._ **

"Again," came the hissed command, "and louder. I've always loved the way you say it the most. You  _will_  obey me.” And the empathic cyclone would brook no argument, brutally possessive, driving into him as much as the body was infuriatingly still.

"M-Master," he breathed again, tangibly yearning now. "This… this once."


End file.
